Every Breath You Take
by goblinesque
Summary: The American Dream becomes the American Nightmare for one family. A welcomed visitor comes to visit to make the murderous duo's night a little more interesting. Games are a little more fun when there is a bigger risk, a bigger threat involved, and what is a bigger threat than playing a game with someone that can end your life?
1. I'm Coming Home

**Chapter One: I'm Coming Home**

**So here's the deal, I don't own any characters from Funny Games. I love Thomas Harris so you will see lots and lots of references/nods to his books.**

Rain beat down on the metal roof of the small house for the third day in the road. If one were to look down the paved road of the gated community, one would ask why this house had been built here. It was a small house, much smaller than any of the neighboring houses. There was a deck in the back with a cute little boat just as the other homes, but this house was all completely different. The owners actually lived in this house on a day to day basis rather than coming to stay in the home for holidays and the occasional weekends. The small grey four bedroom, two bath house sat at the very end of the gated lake house community, it stood alone as a testament of a man's hard work. The Barton house was the symbol of the American dream in this lake housecommunity. It belonged to a man that had not been born into high class living, it belonged to a man and his wife that had struggled for years before their small company had taken off just a month before their eldest daughter was to be delivered.

Inside the small house three members of the four busied themselves with the daily runs of life. A sense of sleepiness came over the small house from the rain that spat against everything outside. A young girl of the tender age of twelve ran down the stairs. Her white tennis shoes padded against the wooden stairs. She had short blond hair that stopped just at her shoulders and a boyish figure from the late onset of puberty. In her looks, she was the striking image of her mother who was standing tall in the kitchen preparing dinner, but in temperament she was her father's daughter.

"Emily," her mother, Christine, announced, "You need to get ready for dinner. Oh, and tell your father that Jacoby called him earlier today about the order."

"Okay Mom," Emily said in a huff of annoyance as she continued on her way into the living room where the television droned on without an audience.

"In other news," the talking head on the television news program announced as a recording of Annette Barton, the oldest Barton daughter, came across the television screen, "FBI Agent Annette Barton, known for her successful yet fatal takedown of Gordon "The Ritz Ripper" Finch on her freshman year on the force is now under investigation for yet another fatal event that we reported on earlier."

"Annie is on TV again," Emily said with a roll of her eyes. She resented her older sister's success and how her father bragged about her at every little party that they were forced to attend.

"-left three dealers dead and two agents in critical care," the talking head on the television continued on as thunder echoed loudly through the house.

Milton Barton, the patriarch of the small Barton house, walked into the living room from his office down the hall. Emily turned slightly to see her father standing in a worn forest green sweater and brown slacks intently reading a letter in his hand while a cup of hot coffee was held lazily in his other hand. His striking blue eyes absorbed each word that he was reading. His dark hair was combed back, but the natural wave caused it to look as if he hadn't put a brush to it in days. It was a physical trait that she was glad that her older sister had inherited instead of her. She was happy for her mother's soft looks, even if some stupid kid at school said she looked like a Nazi with her fair hair and blue eyes.

"I saw that earlier," Christine announced as she wiped her hands on the frills of her pink and red apron, "I tried calling Annie's cell earlier, but it went straight to voicemail. She's been nursing a cold for the last two days too. I want her to come home."

Emily rolled her eyes at her mother's words. She had become used to this since her sister's moved out and became a great idea. She had to listen to her dad go on and on about her, her mother being overly motherly, and to her teacher's that wished she could be more like her older sister…which that was never going to happen.

"Ha," Milton said with a roll of his eyes, "This is from Ripley's Believe It or Not," he handed the letter over to his wife, "Congratulating us for being the parents of the FBI agent with the most shot and killed incidents."

"Did you hear about what happened to the Farbers," Emily asked in an attempt to change the subject, "George and his dad were found bludgeoned to death-"

"Bludgeoned," Christine repeated, "I don't like that word. Don't say that…say something," she shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, "less morbid."

"They were murdered in their home," Emily said, obeying her mother but not hiding the annoyance in her voice, "I heard they think Mrs. Farber did it. Lost her mind and then ran away to Mexico with her lover."

"They," Milton asked, "Who exactly is they?"

"That's what Lewis' dad said," she answered, "Sheriff Connors."

"Well that's ridiculous," Christine said, "She was a sweet lady. I talked to her every time she came down. I doubt that. I wonder what happened-"

A clap of thunder shot through the house and the lights blinked momentarily before settling back to normalcy. The cooking timer in the kitchen buzzed signaling that supper was ready to come out of the over.

"I got it," Milton answered and walked away from his little family, leaving them alone in the living room with the television still showing footage of the oldest Barton daughter in FBI uniform along with the photos of each murderer that she had brought down.

"Well Lewis' dad is pretty smart. I don't think that he would be wrong ab-"

A knock interrupted Emily and the two Barton women looked at each other. A sudden cold fear rushed between them as they looked to the wooden door in front of them.

"Hello," a soft masculine voice announced behind the door. A flash of lightning struck somewhere in the distance.

"Is anyone home? We just need to use a phone," the voice announced from outside in the darkening storm.

Christine forced a happy smile on her face as she approached the door and opened it to reveal two young men in their twenties standing under the awning of the porch. One wore nothing but white, while the other wore a white shirt with black shorts. They resembled the many rich Ivy League boys that came to town with some of the families so it wasn't too out of the ordinary for one to stumble upon their doorway.

"Can I help you," she asked as she looked them over carefully. The two boys smiled at her as they nodded. The soft voiced man stood in front of her while the other allowed his eyes to roam inside the house, taking in what little riches they had inside.

"I'm sorry if we are interrupting anything," Peter said with a soft sadness in his tone, "But Paul and I…see we were on the lake and this giant gust of wind blew our bags over," he forced a smile on his face, "and, well…our phones were in there."

"So you need to use the phone," she asked with a warm smile, "No, it's fine. Come on in. Get out of the weather."

"Thank you," Peter said as he walked in first.

"Thank you," Paul said as he walked in, following his friend with a darkening smile and dilated pupils as his inside squirmed in excitement, "We don't mean to impose."

"Oh no imposition," Christine said as she walked down the hall to her husband's office to show him where the landline phone was, leaving Peter alone with her young daughter, "Things like this happen all the time. I just think of it as what would I want someone to do if one of my daughters were in a position like you two boys are."

"You have another daughter," Paul asked, he looked quickly up at her, "Where is she at if you don't mind me asking?"

"Annie," Christine answered as she opened up the office door, "She's about your age. She just graduated college a few years ago. It's been hard on Milton, oh, Milton…he's my husband."

"What does she do," Paul asked as he walked slowly towards the phone, a small pocket knife emerging from his pocket as he picked the phone up.

"Uh," Christine said as she walked back towards the door to give him privacy for his phone call, "She's a cop. Breaks her daddy's heart."

Paul smiled at the thought of having a daddy's girl here. The games that he could play with a daddy's girl were countless. Too bad she was long gone, still he would leave a nice mess for the little cop.

...

Annette Barton sat in an old chair that countless other agents had sat in before. She could hear her uppers talking in muffled voices in the next room. She held in tears as she recalled the disaster that had unfurled only a short eight hours ago. The case had bad luck written all over it when she had first been assigned the job.

"Crawford just passed away," the voice of her boss announced as he entered the room, leaving the others behind.

Annie felt a sob escape her but she quickly covered it. She had made it a rule from day one to not let her feelings get the best of her in this job. Her partner had been shot through the chest by a Jamaican drug pusher that was doing the bidding of some white high class millionaire in the big city. The objective of the stake out was to take the Jamaican pusher in without any fatalities, no bloodshed, it was just supposed to be nice and easy.

"Did his wife make it there," she heard herself ask as she tried to detach herself from the situation. Her voice sounded stuffy from the cold that she had been suffering from.

"Five minutes before," Niles Black answered solemnly with his eyes focused on her reactions, "What happened out there Annie?"

She shook her head and bit her bottom lip as anger filled her. She had been in charge of the investigation.

"He held a knife to my throat as soon as he saw me," she repeated the same story that she had already repeated more than twice, "He knew who I was. This case shouldn't have been given to me, I made that clear when it was handed to me," she shook her head as she bit back the tears as she thought about the pain that Mrs. Crawford was going through, "Agent Crawford told the others to back down. They didn't listen. Someone from the back, from the city PD shot first. Benetti threw me to the ground and started to shoot back. I watched Benetti shoot Crawford down, then I shot him in the back."

"He's paralyzed now Annie," Niles informed her.

She lifted a brow as she wiped her nose with a napkin that she pulled from his desk, "Am I supposed to feel bad about that?"

"How do you feel Annie?"

"A good friend and partner is dead and another officer is still touch and go," she answered bitterly, "How do you think I feel?"

"I don't want to do this to you," he said as he shook his head as he looked the brunette over. He had been the one to train her, she was his star, the leader of his dog pack, "You are a good agent, Annie. But my superiors want-"

She stood abruptly from the chair and ripped her gun from its holster. She pushed it onto his desk and ripped her badge from her pocket. She walked to him and glared him in the eyes as she handed her badge over.

"It's all about what they want isn't it Niles," she asked, her tone sad, "It's always been that way. Even when you were with me."

"Annie," Niles started to say and chase after her as she walked towards the door.

"I'm going home," she informed him, her words lacking emotion as she looked at him with tear filled eyes, "I've been really sick. I need to get some rest."

"This isn't permanent Annie," he informed her quickly, "Just to get the media off our backs. You know how this goes."

"Yeah," she said as she nodded sadly, she looked away from him as she forced herself to leave her gun and badge behind to go back home to her parents. A place that she really did not want to go back to at a time like this.

"Tell your mom I said hello," she heard Niles call out to her just before his door closed. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her chest was tight from whatever horrible things that decided to take refuge inside of her lungs throughout her sickness and from the events of the day. She looked at her cellphone and quickly dialed the number that she knew well.

The phone rang and rang, but there was never an answer.

"Hey this is Chrissy," her mother's voice announced to her in complete happiness, "I can't get to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number, I'll be in touch ASAP. Okay? Thanks!"

She rolled her eyes and said just as a sob escaped her, "Hey mom. It's me. I'm coming home."

* * *

**So reviews are always nice :)**


	2. Wicked Schemes

**Chapter Two: Wicked Schemes**

**So the rating is being changed to M. I've never written an M rated fic before so bare with me. I thought I'd explore another character that will be a major conflict later. Sort of like the dramatic irony that goes on in Hannibal:)**

Niles Black stood in his high rise penthouse in the middle of the big city. Lights twinkled back at him like little stars. Phil Collins played in the background from some grand stereo system that he kept in perfect condition since his college days. His house was in pristine, sparkling condition thanks to the imported Mexican maid that he paid minimum wage when he could afford to pay her a lot more. His life had always been easy. Being born into old money had many advantages, one of which was being able to get away with anything and to have whatever one wanted. In high school, he had screwed up from a slight dependency on the amazing cocktail that was free pussy and cocaine along with entrance into any club he had wanted. These events had led him to stand in front of a judge, but with his father's money, the past was hidden under the rug like an old dust bunny. He was given the choice of going into the military or college. He had, of course, chosen college and had quickly, with the help of several presidents, graduated and entered the law sector of life. It hadn't taken long for him to rise through the ranks to run the inner workings of the FBI, thanks to his many friends in high places.

But still, old habits die hard. Niles stood tall, with a woman's lips caressing his throbbing erection. He felt as if he should be giving her more attention than what he had been bestowing upon her. She was, after all, his favorite slut. He paid her well to come to the high end of town in the most exquisite of costumes. His eyes moved from her head full of dark brunette hair and he looked around him. His eyes moved over the bright lights of the city that he looked over like a mighty emperor. Freshly shipped cocaine sat upon his coffee table in front of his expensive black leather couch.

He had everything that he could ever want, except one thing. He had it once and somehow, in all of the pretend, he had lost it. He desired Annette Barton like nothing he had desired of craved for before. He closed his eyes and imagined Annie sucking on his member and he felt his fingers curling into the brown tussles of the prostitute's hair. The drum sounded through the apartment and his hands tightened within her hair as he started to come to the edge of his pleasure as he thought of the one thing that he could not possess.

"Annie, you-"

"Who," the shrill voice asked, her voice hurt his ears, the shrillness of it sounded like the buzzing cars on the street far below, "I'm not Annie. Are you not into this?"

He looked down at the woman that he paid good money for. Her brown eyes, eyes that were not the cool blue he so craved, looked up at him. He felt a sudden flash of anger fill him at the judgmental eyes that were staring up at him.

"My name is Robin," she informed him bitterly.

"I don't care," he replied with a sharp hatred in his voice that delivered a mental punch to its intended victim, "You were supposed to wear those contacts. I wanted blue eyes," his hands tangled into her hair and shoved her head down so her eyes were no longer looking up at him, "Blue, not that shitty brown of yours," he took a deep breath to calm his anger that flushed through his voice, "Now finish what you fucking started and leave. Don't say a word from now on. Unless I specifically tell you, I'm not paying you good money for small talk."

...

"Now," Paul announced with a calm grin on his face as he looked at the small family that sat in front of him, "I didn't want to have to do that Mr. Barton, but you forced my hand," his blue eyes took in the damaged man who had quickly been rendered helpless, "I didn't want to do it."

"Here," Peter said as he slowly edged towards the wounded patriarch of the family, blood seeped out of Milton's tan pants from the strong blow he had taken, "Let me help you."

Peter reached a helpful hand towards Milton, but it was quickly slapped away from Milton by an angered wife. Christine sat with a straight back; if looks could kill the two young men would have been reduced to nothing but bloody goo on her newly vacuumed white carpet.

"Ow," Peter said with a hint of sadness in his voice as he childishly rubbed his poor hand to rid the sting of the slap away, "That hurt."

"That wasn't very polite Chrissy," Paul informed her as he held the bloodied wooden bat towards the little housewife, "We don't really want to hurt you, but if you force us to," he shrugged his shoulders as he sat back on the soft cushion of the suede couch, "Well," a chuckle escaped him, "we'll be forced to oblige. That's the rules."

"That's the rules," Peter repeated with a smile as he moved away from the family to sit back beside Paul.

"Them's the rules," Paul said, as he looked at his friend with a slightly annoyed look painted on his face.

"This isn't a game," Milton informed the two boys between spasms of his pain. He could feel the bone protruding from his leg; each movement was like a devil biting into his flesh allowing hot hellfire to move through his nerves.

Paul smiled in genuine excitement at the man's words. He opened his mouth to reply that of course it was all games, good old funny games, but his attention was pulled away from the frightened family in front of him. A small album peered at him from under several old fishing and cosmetic magazines on the mahogany coffee table beside the couch. He quickly reached for the book, careful to keep the magazines from falling to the floor. Cleanliness and organization was next to godliness as his mother always had said.

"Of course it is Mr. Barton," Peter said in his childishly soft voice, "It's like this running joke between Butthead and I. You see, we go house to house-"

"Is this your daughter," Paul asked with a widened smile as he flipped through the photo album to see Annie Barton dressed in a simple, yet elegant white gown, "Wow! Tubby," he tapped on Peter's thigh, "Look at this."

Emily held onto her mother tightly as fear bubbled through her as she watched the two intruders gaze at the photos of her older sister.

"What do you think Tom? You think she's pretty?"

"Not really," Peter answered honestly as he looked away from the photographs and smiling at young Emily happily, his eyes dilated as he took in her terrified glance, "She has a witch nose!"

"A witch no," Paul asked in surprise, his mouth dropped as he looked over to Milton and Christine, "Do you hear that? He's doubting your perfect daughter? Witch nose," he shook his head, "None of these fine people have witch noses."

"I'm just sayin," Peter said as he took the bat away from Paul and pretended to hit a baseball across the field, "She's not all that pretty. She has physical flaws. Like look there," Peter pointed to a random photo, "She has a double chin and flabby thighs."

"I just," Paul shook his head, "I can't believe what I'm hearing. Flabby thighs? Double chin," he poked his friend in the side and laughed when his partner in crime chuckled from his touch, "Look who needs to look in the mirror? You aren't exactly Mr. Sex. I'm worried about you Tubby," Paul looked over to Christine who was holding her daughter close to her, "What do you think? Would you let your daughter fuck him? Would you proud of that?"

"Stop it," she said with pain and anger in her voice, "Tell us what you want."

"You want money," Milton asked, "It's in my office. I can give you the code to the safe. My wife, she has some jewelry."

Peter let a snort escape it at the worthless words that escaped the intended victims. He looked over to Paul and shook his head, "Just like the others."

Paul scooted forward slightly on the couch as he asked, "Oh, we don't do this for the money. I just wanted to engage you in some polite conversation," he chuckled as he looked over to Peter, "Isn't that what makes society? The exchange of information and ideas through polite conversations?"

Emily felt tears well up in her eyes. She held onto her mother tightly as she stole a peek back at the picture of her sister. Never had she wanted her sister to come back then at this moment in time. Her body trembled in fear as she watched the soft-spoken boy look her over with dilated eyes, her eyes moved to the thinner boy and a terrifying coldness swept over her. Something told her young mind that he was the ringleader and the most ruthless of the pair.

"I want Annie here," she whispered to her mother.

"Shhh," Christine said as her hands swept through her daughter's blond hair. She could feel her daughter's heart beating quickly in her chest against her as she held her youngest.

"I do too," Paul agreed with the girl, "Tell me about-"

"What about the bet," Peter interrupted as he twirled the bat on the ground, causing little lines to temporarily mark the white carpet fibers.

Paul gave another annoyed glance to his partner in crime and then looked back at the Barton family with the warm smile that he had used on the previous families that had met up with them.

"Okay so here's the bet," Paul informed the family with yet another happy grin as he held his hands out in excitement, "It's a really fun one too! We bet that by," he looked at Peter and asked, "Tubby, what time is it?"

"Stop calling me Tubby," Peter said with a growing aggravation in his tone, "I'm just ten pounds overweight. It's starting to hurt my self-esteem and make me think that you don't really like me."

"Oh," Paul said as he rolled his eyes, "I'm sorry, but you do have a serious weight problem Beavis. I don't mean to be mean about it, but I want you to know…you're fat."

Peter rolled his eyes as he looked to the Bartons, a smile crossed his face as he replied, "It's 7:45."

"Okay," Paul said, "We, that is Peter and I, bet that you three won't survive to see the sun rise," he chuckled, "But wait, here is the fun part-"

"What," Christine asked in horror as she looked at the two young men that were about Annie's age.

"Hold on Mrs. Barton," Peter informed her kindly as if he were a parent nicely scolding an errant child, "It's not rude to interrupt. You haven't heard the best part."

"Now," Paul continued, "You bet us that you will make it to see the sun rise tomorrow morning," he shook his head.

"Horse shit," Milton said in anger as he glared at the two men in his house that he had worked hard for.

"What was that," Paul asked as a flash of anger flooded his face. He gracefully jumped to his feet and moved over to the man of the house and shoved his weight onto the man's broken leg. Blood soaked the tan pants once again in wet patches as Milton screamed out in agony. The thunder struck somewhere in the distance, keeping his screams silent to anyone in the area.

"Stop," Christine cried as she pushed passed her daughter and towards her wounded husband. Her hands gripped at Paul's muscled shoulders. Her nails dug into the white fabric of his long sleeved shirt as she tried to pull him off.

"Tubby," Paul demanded, "Get her off me."

Peter quickly moved to his friend's rescue and pulled Christine off of Paul. Controlled anger rushed through his veins as he formed a fist and pushed his fist into the woman's lower abdomen. He smiled as the woman doubled over against him. Peter shoved her back onto the couch, taking a slight moment of pride as he watched the young Barton girl crying in fear as she clung to her mother like a baby.

"I didn't want to have to do that," Paul said as he pulled away from Milton. He fixed his messied hair and forced the bangs back behind his ears so he could see his victims clearly. His blue eyes moved from the two parents to the little girl and a soft smile tugged at his features.

"Tell me about your big sister," Paul demanded as he looked at the young blond, "What's she like?"

Emily looked at her mother as fear riddled through her quaking body. She had never experienced fear like this before.

"You can tell me, I don't bite," Paul assured her with a soft smile that one would give a lost child when trying to help him find his mother, "Now Peter on the other hand…"

"I'm hungry," Peter said, ignoring his friend's insult, "What are you cooking?"

"God," Paul said with a chuckle, "I swear that's all you think about. Fucking and food."

"That's not all I think about," Peter answered in self-defense. He shrugged his shoulders and added, "I think about killing too."

"Don't listen to him," Paul whispered as he looked back at Emily, "He is actually a big sweetheart. His poor mother, may she rest in peace, died of cancer a few years ago. That's why he eats so much. He stuffs his face as a means of replacing the love that died with her. He also does drugs too. That's probably what he is doing."

"Don't talk like that in front of my daughter," Milton said in disgust, "She's just a child."

"Right," Paul said, "I apologize. You are the captain, your word is law. Now tell me, Ms. Emily, what is your sister like?"

Emily looked at her mother for the answers.

"Don't look at mommy, look at me," Paul demanded, "I'm asking you. Don't be scared. I'm not scary. I'm a nice guy. You can tell me anything Emily."

Emily looked at him, fear evident in her eyes, "Her…her," she tried to swallow the fear down, "Her name is Annette. Everyone just calls her Annie."

"Is she nice?"

Emily looked to the floor and then shook her head, "Boys always liked her."

"So Annie was a cum bank?"

"You shut-"

"Sorry," Paul said quickly at Milton's angry words, "I'm sure she is a nice girl."

"She was on TV," Emily admitted, a strength and fire growing inside of her, "She kills bad guys," her eyes glared at Paul, "Like you and your fat fuck friend."

Paul chuckled at her childish insult and clapped his hands together and replied, "How many bad guys has your sister _blew_ away?"

"A bunch," Emily said in anger, the pervertedness of his comment completely lost on her.

"Well you know what Emily," Paul said with an honest smile as he placed his hands together on his knees, "I wish your sister was here with us too."

"If she was," Emily said, biting back anger, "She'd kill you both."

"Look what I found," Peter's voice announced as he entered the living room, leaving the kitchen with a large bowl of soup in his hand and a cell phone and a white letter in his other free hand. He took the bat away from Paul and handed him the letter.

"There's a message on the phone," Peter informed the room, he looked over to Christine and asked, "Do you mind if we listen?"

Christine did not answer the younger man. She glared at him in hatred.

"I'll take that as a yes then," he replied softly as he pressed various buttons to get to the voice mail.

Paul chuckled as he read the letter from Ripley's Believe It or Not. He looked over to Emily and shook his head, "Now I really do wish your sister was here. Imagine playing a game with a bonafied killer just like us. Challenges are always the best; it makes things a lot more interesting when the playing grounds are evened out. Don't you think?"

"_Hey mom."_

The choked voice of Annie filled the room. A silence came over the room as everyone looked at the phone. Two people looked at the phone in excitement and three others looked on it with apprehension.

"_It's me. I'm coming home."_

Paul clapped his hands together and announced happily as if he were in a rowdy church, "Yes! Wishes do come true!"

A sob escaped Christine as she held her daughter in a tight grasp. Thunder struck in the distance to cover her sobs and lightning struck. Headlights peered through the windows and smiles came over the tow murderous men's faces.

"Annie is home," Paul announced happily as he listened to the rain bang upon the roof, "Tom, go get her and bring her to us."

"With what," Peter asked in confusion.

"With what," Paul said in annoyance as he shook his head in disbelief, "With the stuff in the bag. Go get it and then bring her in here."

"Wait, wait a minute," Paul said as a loud noise beat across the table where the phone sat, "Someone is calling first," he looked over to Christine and smiled at her as he demanded, "Well answer it. I don't think I have to tell you that you have to sell it to her."

"You've done enough," Christine answered as she pushed herself forward and answered the phone.

"Put it on speaker," Paul mouthed silently. He smiled as the mother did as he directed without a problem.

...

Annie pulled into the driveway as rain beat down on her car in an almost violent assault on her window. She held the phone to her ear as she listened to the phone ring multiple times.

"Hey sweetie," her mother's voice answered the phone. She could detect the hint of sadness in her voice as if she had been crying before answering.

"Mom," Annie asked, worry entered her tired body. She looked down at her still bloodied clothes and she regretted not stopping to change clothes before coming home to her parents, "Are you okay?"

"Fine sweetie," she answered, "Just worried about you. I saw the news and you didn't answer."

"I tried calling you earlier," Annie said as she stopped in front of the garage. She fondled the dashboard for the little clicker her father had given her for the garage door, "You didn't answer. I just wanted to let you know that I'm home. I'm about to come into the-"

"Hmmp," a loud sound came over the phone, loud enough to cause Annie to pull the phone away from her ear.

"Mom, what was that?"

"Nothing," her mother answered, "Your sister just tripped going down the stairs," a laugh escaped her, "you know how clumsy the poor thing is. I should have her name changed to Grace."

"Okay," Annie said, worried that something was not altogether right with her mother, but her mother had always been a peculiar sort so she tried not to think nothing of it, "Well I'm going to let you go. I'll see you in a few seconds. I have to call Niles to let him know that I'm here."

"See you soon sweetie," her mother said with finality.

Darkness overcame the garage as she turned the headlights of her car off. Limp Bizkit faded from existence as she turned the car off. She sat in her car for several seconds, contemplating where her life had ended up. She had been suspended and was now back at home with her family, and on top of everything else, she was running a low grade fever.

She had never thought that she would be in this place in her career. It had never crossed her mind that she would be back at home with her parents to hide from the shitstorm that was the US media. Tears filled her eyes as she allowed one strong sob to escape her as her world began to crumble around her.

"It's going to get better Annie," she whispered to herself, "It's only temporary."

She took a deep breath as she allowed the emotions to run over her. She wiped the tears out of her cheeks and wiped the forming snot away from her nose. Annie shook her head at her own foolishness. Deep inside, she always knew that she could get through any obstacle she was put through. She forced herself out of her car but as she did, her shaking hands caused her to drop her keys to the ground.

"Shit," she whispered as she turned the flashlight on her phone on to look down at the cement floor of the garage. She couldn't see her keys and she felt a strange uneasiness come over her. She closed the doors and readied herself to fall to her knees to look under the car, but she wasn't allowed the luxury of finding her keys as a strong odor entered her nose.

She screamed as a powerful arm pulled her into a hard trunk of a man's body. She shrieked and tried to fight the grip that was now around her. Annie tried not to breathe in the odor on the rag that was now wrapped around her nose and mouth, but found it increasingly harder and harder. Her nails ripped into the man's arm.

"Come on now," she heard a soft spoken voice whisper in her ear as she felt her balance escaping her and the edges of her world beginning to go black, "Don't fight me. It will just make it harder on the both of us."

Her grip on his arm loosened as her world was overtaken by darkness and her legs gave out from underneath her.

"Finally," Peter said as he looked down at the woman. He looked up to the stairs and cursed under his breath. He would have to figure out a way to pull her up the stairs without cutting her up. He knew Paul would have a fit if there was something wrong with her before he got to look at her.

"Come on," Peter said to the unconscious body as he pulled her arms from the ground and jerked her body forward, "You know you could help me a little. You are pretty heavy. Maybe Paul can call you Tubby for a while and lay off me."

A moan escaped her as he pulled her up the stairs.

"Can you please be quiet," Peter begged softly, "I'm trying to focus."

* * *

**So now they have Annie as well. What will happen now that she is in the house? Is she included in the bet?**

**REVIEW :D**


	3. Like Dust in the Wind

**Chapter Three: Like Dust in the Wind**

A loud bang caused Christine to jump slightly. Her arms instinctively wrapped around her younger daughter. Her pupils dilated in fear as to what had happened to her daughter at the clutches of the softer boy. She looked up to see Paul standing lazily against the door frame; he leaned on the baseball bat like a fine English gentleman leaning upon an umbrella in some play she had seen long ago.

"Tom," Paul said in frustration as he looked down the hall to the door that connected the house to the garage.

"Can you help me," Christine heard the younger boy ask, "She's so heavy."

Paul rolled his eyes and turned to look at the captured family that sat in fear upon the couch in the living room.

"He can never do anything on his own," Paul said, a charming, but dangerous, smile crossed his face, "It's why his dad kicked him out of the house," he chuckled, "to get him to man up."

"That's not true," Peter said as he came into view of the family with his back bent over as he tugged on Annie's wrists.

A scream escaped Christine as Annie's face fell to the side facing her with closed lids, she couldn't see her daughter breathing. Blood stained her daughter's clothes. Brown locks shadowed over Annie's face, keeping her face slightly hidden from the onlookers. Her white shirt was dirtied and covered in dried blood. Her light blue jeans were painted in tiny, dark blood splatters as if her pants had been a canvas for some snooty artist in the city whose art wasn't worth the amount of money the paint was worth.

Paul smiled as he looked down upon her face. Her face had been tearstained, he could easily see from his vantage point above her. His heart quickened at the sight of a holster, but it quickly slowed after seeing that it was empty of a weapon of any kind. He also took this moment to steal a glance of her very womanly hips, her tight fitting clothes showed off every curve that she was blessed with, and he was not disappointed in what he saw.

"She's so heavy," Peter said to his friend as he watched Paul look her over, "Someone should tell her to go on a diet."

"Don't be silly," Paul said with a chuckle, "She doesn't have a single roll on her body."

"How would you know?"

"We could always rip her clothes off like that other time," Paul informed him with a wicked glint in his eyes.

"No," Christine screamed as she tried to push Emily off of her and run to her helpless, unconscious daughter. Seeing blood on her daughter's close had sent her into a frenzied state and all she wanted to do was to protect her daughter that was now in the hands of two crazy boys. Adrenaline rushed through her as she pushed herself off of the couch and to the hallway.

"No, no, no," Paul warned with a happy smile as he pointed the baseball bat towards the matriarch of the family, "You know the rules. No moving without our say so," he dropped the bat from pointing towards Christine and pointed it to Annie, "I'd hate to have to bash your daughter's lovely face in just to see her lovely brains."

Christine stopped at the sudden change of direction. She could die, but she wanted her children to survive. She could be immortal through her children, but if they died there would be nothing left of her in the world. Her children were everything to her, she'd sooner die than let these boys harm them in any way. She looked away from her daughter to Peter and then, with pleading eyes, she looked to Paul.

"Please," she begged in a whisper, her lips trembled and fearful tears strolled like the rain drops that raced down the windows, "Don't hurt my little girl."

"What was that," Paul asked with a chuckle, "Did you say please," he looked to his partner and smiled, "Tom, did you hear that?"

"I heard her Jerry."

"So polite, everything is so much easier when it is polite," Paul smiled brightly and turned back to Christine, "Just because you said please, I'll oblige you just this once."

Christine looked over to her oldest daughter and her eyes focused on the bloodstains, "What did you do to her?"

"Oh no," Peter said softly, an embarrassed, childlike chuckle escaped him, "The blood was already on her. I found her that way," he made a cross over his heart, "I cross my heart and hope to die."

"See," Paul carried on with a bright smile that made his blue eyes sparkle in all the chaos, "Little Annie is okay," he shook his head, "But you should really be worrying about yourselves. We are going to begin the games soon. I think you should go back to Emily while we take care of Annie."

"Shit," Peter whispered loudly under his breath.

Paul was pulled away from the small family to look back at his partner in crime, "What?"

"Her shirt stained the carpet."

Paul looked down the hall to see small droplets of blood on the floor. He knew it was fresh blood and not from her shirt. He rolled his eyes at the thought of his friend's complete laziness. He knew Peter had just lugged her up the steps in the garage and that it was a safe bet that the unconscious girl had fresh scrapes and carpet burn lining her back.

"Change her clothes," Paul demanded and he signaled for his friend to carry her up the stairs.

"What?"

"You're going to have to change her clothes," Paul said, adding detail to his previous demand, "I swear sometimes, Tubby-"

"Stop calling me that," Peter interrupted.

"Take her to her room," Paul replied and looked down at the unconscious woman on the floor, "Put her into something nice."

"I don't know what room is hers though."

"Tom," Paul said sternly, "No, forget it," his eyes locked on Emily and signaled for her to come towards him.

Emily looked to her mother for an answer.

"No," Paul said with a slight hint of anger in his voice, "Chrissy isn't in command here. I am. You do as I ask. That's one of the rules," he signaled with a turn of his head for her to come to him, "Now get over here and help your sister. That's what sisters are supposed to do."

"Haven't you seen My Sister's Keeper? That's how you are supposed to be," Peter added softly as he smiled at the young girl.

"Horrible movie," Paul stated as he looked over to Peter, "Don't even bring up that travesty of film making."

Peter smiled and shrugged his shoulders, "I didn't even watch it. It was just for emphasis. I have no idea what it is even about."

Emily jumped from the couch and out of her mother's strong hands to run to her sister as the boys rambled on about the movie. Paul smiled at her quick movements as he looked down at her trembling, terrified body.

"Eager to please," Paul said as the blond girl stopped in front of him, her eyes fell to her sister and then looked back up to him, "I like that in a player."

"What do you want me to do," Emily asked softly.

"Help Peter take your sister up the stairs," Paul said casually as if he were talking to some stranger on the street, "Help Tubby change her. Make sure he doesn't jerk off in front of her."

"I'm not going to do that," Peter informed Paul as he pulled Annie up by her wrists once again, he looked over to Emily and asked, "Can you grab her feet please?"

Emily quickly did as she was told by the heavy set boy and grabbed her older sister's feet and gently pulled her up, being careful as she could be. Peter jerked Annie's body forward, causing a groan to erupt from deep inside of her as her dangling head bumped into the edge of a step.

"Be careful," Paul said quickly.

"Sorry," Peter said softly, lowering his eyes to Emily, "She's not helping."

"Just get her cleaned up before she wakes up," Paul demanded cheerfully, his blue steely eyes moved towards the concerned parents, "Oh and don't do anything inappropriate. Milton over there might try to," he smiled as the pun lingered momentarily on his tongue, "_kick_ you to the curb if you try anything with his daughters."

Paul watched as Milton Barton closed his eyes in obvious distress and disgrace. Disgraced as a man and a father. Paul bit at his tongue as he watched the watchful parents. He knew Milton felt like less of a man to be brought down by his own baseball bat that he used in college years and years ago.

...

White carpet covered the upper floor of the small house. The upper half held two years, both belonged to the Barton girls, and a full bath that they shared at the far end of the upstairs.

"That your room," Peter asked Emily as he looked over his shoulder at a simple white door that was littered with 'Keep Out' signs and many regretful stickers placed on the well-oiled wood of the door.

Emily ignored his question. Her mind focused on the task that she was assigned to. Her eyes stayed glued to her sister, praying inwardly that her big sister would save the day. She knew that keeping her head down and doing what she was asked was the best chance for everyone's survival. She remembered it from one of Annie's stories that she had told when she came home to escape the flood of media men that chased her for the first official story about "The Ritz Ripper".

"Where's her room," Peter asked, he eyed her dull blue eyes as she looked up at him in confusion as if she had not heard a word he had said.

"This is her room," she answered as she shook her head in hopes of gaining control over her fear.

"Do you mind opening the door for me," Peter asked politely.

She nodded and did as she was told. She quickly returned to help Peter drag Annie into the room.

"Maybe we should put her on the bed," Peter asked, trying to get a response from the youngest Barton girl.

"Whatever you want," she said, her eyes catching his momentarily. She watched as he bent over and pulled Annie's arms over his shoulders and lifted her up in one quick heave.

"Get her feet please," Peter demanded kindly, "But don't get mud on the bed. Take her shoes off first."

Emily did as she was told.

"Okay," Peter said as he moved away from the bed to search the closet for clean clothes, "now you need to undress her. I'll get her a fresh change of clothes."

Emily nodded at his demand and quickly took his place in front of Annie. Her hands quickly moved on their own as she pulled the soiled shirt off over her sister's head. Her hand lightly grazed against Annie's head and she pulled her hand back quickly.

"She's burning up," Emily heard herself say aloud. She turned to her captor with pleading eyes, "She needs a doctor. She's been sick."

Peter shrugged his shoulders as if he couldn't be bothered by it when he turned to gaze at the young girl, "Maybe Paul can get her some Tylenol or something."

She watched him as he looked around the room momentarily. Posters of various movies, Silence of the Lambs, Wolf Creek, Jurassic Park, Last House on the Left, and Batman, plastered to the white plastered walls. A book case stood in the corner filled with a few assorted novels and law books sat in a dusty hell, while the rest of the case was cluttered with CDs and old vinyl records.

"Your sister likes music," Peter asked as he quickly grabbed a white dress out of the closet. It was a simple dress that a girl would wear for a Homecoming Dance. He placed it in front of him and smiled, "Do you think Paul would approve?"

Emily didn't answer as she quickly pulled Annie's jeans off of her legs to reveal very pale legs that hadn't seen the sunlight in months. Peter threw the dress over to her and busied himself with the detective's music collection.

"You shouldn't let him call you names," Emily heard herself say as she struggled to pull the dress onto her sister.

"He doesn't mean it," Peter answered, eyeing a Whitesnake CD, he chuckled, "It's just for fun. I'm not really fat."

"It's not right that he treats you like that," she added, "Friends don't treat each other like that."

"Do you get picked on?"

"At school," she answered, "This boy calls me a Nazi."

"Well," Peter replied, a boyish chuckle escaping him, "you aren't, are you?"

"No."

"I mean," he shrugged his shoulders, "It's okay if you are. You don't have to feel secretive around us. We don't judge. But killing Jews is not a really nice thing to be proud of if you are a Nazi."

Emily did not answer him as she zipped the back end of the dress up on her sister. An uncomfortable silence entered into the room.

"Your sister has great taste in music," Peter said, shattering the silence.

"You said that already."

"Paul likes music," Peter answered, "It was his major for a while. Then he changed it. Oh wow, she even has The Police, that's Paul's favorite band. You know that one song 'Every Breath You Take'? That is a great song."

Emily sighed as she looked at her sister, "Will she wake up?"

"It was just chloroform," he answered, "It shouldn't be too much longer. I think Paul really likes your sister."

She turned to see that he was still moving through the large music collection, his eyes intently moving over each album.

"Why are you doing this," she heard herself ask.

"I like music too," he answered and smiled as he watched Emily roll her eyes, "Can I call you Em?"

"Do whatever you want," she said once again.

"So why does your sister have so many albums?"

She rolled her eyes and said, "Annie wanted to write music. Dad said no. She became an agent instead. That's why she has so many albums."

"So," Peter said, a smile tugged at his lips, "These are just memories like dust in the wind?"

Emily looked up at Peter. Tears filled her eyes. A moan escaped from her sister and she could see her sister moving slightly upon the bed, bustling the fabric of the dress. Emily's heart beat rapidly in her chest as she thought of the future.

"Are you going to kill us?"

Peter's small smile grew as large as the Cheshire Cat's at the sudden question.

"We have to try and win the bet don't we? Otherwise it wouldn't be fair right," he asked.

Emily looked down at her sister and then to the young man in white and black and warned with soulless words, "Annie will kill you. Then what?"

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